


Drunk Dial

by Duckay



Series: Drunk Dial [1]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Blow Jobs, Drunk Texting, Drunkenness, Hand Jobs, M/M, One Night Stands, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 04:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6501553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckay/pseuds/Duckay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College AU. Dean Ambrose has been out drinking and tries to text Seth for a lift, but things don't go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk Dial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Randomosities](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomosities/gifts).



> On a bit of a whim I asked for some writing prompts, and one of them was:
> 
> ambreigns college AU, dean is drunk AF and trying to text seth for a ride home, but ends up texting the wrong number which ends up belonging to roman
> 
> bonus points if dean legit thinks he’s texting seth and that seth’s just fucking with him by pretending to be someone else
> 
> So what could I do except give it a good hard go?
> 
> Also you can hit me up on Tumblr if you fancy, I don't mind: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/proceduralbob

The plastic-sounding voice of the pop singer, whatever her name was, had wedged into his brain and was refusing to leave even for a moment. The last few words of the chorus were stuck on repeat, even though that had been at least three songs ago and Dean wasn't sure he could remember the name of the song, or literally any other lyric.

He'd stepped outside for some fresh air to clear his head, and fumbled at his pockets awkwardly for the cigarette lighter and packet he knew were somewhere around. There couldn't really be only two left, right? He'd had a whole packet at the start of the night and he wasn't usually in the habit of ruining his lungs quite that badly. He strained against the autotuned lyrics and the whiskey clouding his brain, trying to remember. Some girl had bummed a couple for sure, and... Did she have a friend with her too? She must have done.

It didn't really matter where his cigarettes had gone, though. Point was there were only two left, and they were looking pretty sad and squashed at that, and that meant it was time to find some way home.

The cigarette wavered precariously in his mouth as he tried once, twice, three times to get the damn thing lit. Finally, he inhaled deeply and felt the smoke fill his lungs. A deep bass reverberated from inside, but he couldn't make out anything more. Someone was talking to him. Right. They want a light. Fair's fair.

What was he doing again? Right. Phone. One hand held the cigarette, smoke curling around him, while the other tapped out a message on the touch screen to his long-suffering roommate.

_One more then home will be out the front_

_its been good btw you missed out but then whod drive me home am I right?_

Why was someone trying to talk to him again? Oh, right. Cheers, brother, not everyone is nice enough to return the shit they borrow. The cigarette was held between his teeth while he slipped the lighter back in his pocket with one hand, still holding onto the phone with the other.

Okay, maybe that was a bad idea. No one wants to be that guy choking on his own cigarette smoke in front of a club, and it wasn’t as though he was particularly drunk. Only...

...How many did he have again?

A chorus of something that sounded vaguely like "woo-WOO!" came from somewhere inside, and he couldn't be happier that he hadn’t been there to hear why. Anything that made girls chorus "woo-WOO!" wasn't worth hanging around for. Oh, hey, his phone...

_Glad you've had a good time tonight._

_By the way hope you texted the person who is picking you up, too._

God, Seth could be an asshole sometimes. Dean threw up in his car one time, and...

Meticulously, with exaggerated care, he tapped out a reply.

_well I hope you want me sleeping in a gutter on your conscience_

Then for good measure:

_asshoel_

Before he could take another drag of the cigarette he had to spit on the sidewalk. Well, that’s not a good look for anyone, but whatever. No one out here to look, anyway. Oh, except that guy. Yeah, judge all you want. Like you've never been there.

As he brought the cigarette to his lips again, he felt his phone vibrate. His brow creased as he read the message. What the hell was Seth…?

_Really, man. I don’t know who you want but I doubt it’s me._

 

Well, that just plain wasn’t nice.

Dean finished his cigarette in moody silence before he was able to think up a good comeback. Stomping on the butt with one foot, he tapped back:

_Well yeah Id love someone better looking and less mouthy_

_but guess what your what i have_

_Come get me dick_

Seth was probably _studying_ or something, had probably been hoping against hope that Dean would pick up while he was out and go home with someone so he wouldn’t need a ride home, Dean figured. Well, if that was a priority, he shouldn’t have said he’d come pick him up if Dean needed it. As far as Dean could tell, that was Seth’s mistake, and there was only so long he could play this game.

_Is that come get your dick in a pirate voice?_

_Or I should come get you and I am a dick?_

_idk whatever gets you here faster seth_

Dean collapsed against the wall behind him. He didn’t have any particular urge to go back inside, but some of the shine was starting to come off standing on the piss-stained sidewalk arguing with Seth about whether it was going to be ten minutes or an hour before he inevitably gave up and came to pick him up.

Impatiently, he added:

_Im going to assume that you are already on your way_

_otherwise_

When the reply eventually came, Dean nearly dropped his phone and had to awkwardly fumble to keep his hands on it. He couldn’t afford another replacement.

The picture message was everything Dean had ever dreamed of, or rather, everything he had ever loudly proclaimed that he dreamed of when questioned, which honestly was rather less often than he would like. His faintly swimming vision drunk in the curve of the bicep, the lines of the tattoo, the full lips…

...his reverie was broken by another text coming through.

_Not Seth._

Dean frowned. Something about this didn’t make sense, but he couldn’t quite put words to it. This seemed like a very complicated game for Seth, but it wasn’t as though Seth hadn’t heard Dean’s list of things he liked in a man a thousand times. And if he was really pissed…

_Funny_

Another picture came through a few minutes later. It was the same man, a few strands of black hair falling out of the messy bun around his amused smirk. This time he was holding a piece of paper on which someone had hastily scrawled “ **HI, DRUNK DIAL** ”.

Dean didn’t really know what to say to that, so he just scrolled back and forth between the two pictures absently. He’d never been a particular fan of facial hair, but this mystery guy could certainly pull it off. He was barely aware of it, but his feet had started moving down the street, away from the noise of the club. He was at least 80% sure it was the right way home. It was technically walking distance, though as he had firmly told Seth earlier that night, it was more accurately “fuck that” distance.

He’d made it as far as the nearest traffic light, and was seriously starting to consider lighting up his last cigarette, when his phone buzzed again.

_Do you need me to call you a cab or something?_

_I’m worried about you, drunk dial._

  


_if your so worried can i have your number_

His final cigarette was half-smoked (and not particularly satisfying, at that; it was so malformed that almost none of the smoke seemed to be coming through the filter) by the time he got a response.

_I hope by now you realize how stupid that question was._

_Did Seth come for you yet?_

 

_yeah i figured it out_

_na walking home to show him_

_???_

A wicked smile crept over Dean’s face as he stubbed out the final cigarette and paused in the street. Campus was - that way, yeah, that’s right.

_Drunk dial, keep yourself safe._

_relax im basically home_

It was more or less true. He pulled the cigarette packet out of his pocket again, only to throw it on the ground in disgust when he remembered it was empty. He couldn’t have possibly smoked a whole packet; someone owed him a few more. What kind of jerk goes to a club and bums that many cigarettes, anyway?

He was back on campus, at least. He had somehow ended up on the opposite side of campus to his dorm, which didn’t make any sense since he was pretty sure the club he’d been to was on the _right_ side, but that wasn’t worth worrying about at this point. Dean’s mind, instead, was occupied with imagining the conversation he’d have with Seth when he got back to the room. If he was a real friend surely he would have texted or called by now to make sure Dean was safe, even if he had accidentally texted the wrong person for a ride home. Somehow, somewhere in all this, there was cause to blame Seth for Dean having to walk home.

Alright, so this was one of the dorms, and Dean knew it wasn’t his, but was this the one that there was a shortcut through, or was it the other one? Well, only way to confirm was to keep walking, right?

The handful of words Dean could remember from that grating pop song were still on loop in his mind and he had started to sing them absently under his breath as he rounded a corridor and walked headlong into a wall of muscle.

Well, that’s what it had felt like at least.

One hand flew up to the chest he had just bumped into and his tongue prepared some sort of excuse for his absentmindedness, probably involving a long and complex storyline that didn’t involve the mystery of the missing cigarettes and the number of drinks he’d had that night. Instead, he nearly swallowed it.

He was very, extremely, intimately familiar with the beard, the bicep, the full lips in his face. It was with a waver that he managed to squeak out, “Drunk dial?”

It occurred to him a second later that technically in that exchange, _his_ name had been Drunk Dial, and if he’d been more on the ball earlier that night he could have had a cute name for the man in front of him, better than “Not Seth” or possibly “Weird Worried Man Who Offered To Call A Taxi”.

The other man looked as confused as Dean felt, but he looked down at the cellphone in his hand then back up at Dean, and then spoke, slowly…

...his voice was like a lightning strike straight to his groin…

“Looking for Seth?”

Dean stumbled, and had to lean against the wall for support. If asked, he would have said it was absolutely, one hundred percent because of the weight of the coincidence that he just walked into, and not at all remotely because of drinking to excess and then spontaneously deciding to walk home. He looked up into the other man’s eyes, and his knees threatened to buckle a second time.

Then, the other man was laughing, slipping an arm around Dean’s shoulders and leading him somewhere. Dean let himself be walked, because it was easier than trying to understand, and anyway, fuck Seth. If Seth wanted him to come home safe and not be waylaid by random men who would hijack his perfectly reasonable texts and take him home to the wrong dorm, he should have… Well, he should have done something. Come out for a drink to begin with, for starters.

\--

Sometime while it was still dark outside, Dean was dimly aware that he woke up, kicked his jeans off, planted a kiss on the shoulder of the body next to him, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

\--

When Dean woke up again, he blearily observed that the red, flashing alarm clock in the corner proclaimed it to be 8:37. It wasn’t technically unreasonably early, but it was too early to be doing things on any day you didn’t strictly _have_ to be doing things. And Dean wasn’t certain, but he was pretty sure that meant he hadn’t gotten anything approaching a proper night’s sleep.

His head, surprisingly, felt fine, if a little hazy, but there was a heavy, burning sensation in his chest that he associated with too much alcohol, too many cigarettes, and not enough water. He took a moment to take in the room around him. Sparsely decorated, dirty clothes in a pile on the floor…

…and a gorgeous man in the bed beside him.

The mystery man’s bun had come even further undone since the last selfie, and his hair splayed across the pillow creating a sort of dark halo around him. One arm was curled up and behind his head, and Dean spent a few silent moments mentally tracing the lines of the tattoo that snaked up the curves of his muscles.

Dean gingerly reached out with one arm and one leg. He was _pretty_ sure he had been drunk enough to go home with a stranger but not quite drunk enough to forget completely about having sex with them, and the feeling of satin against his thigh seemed to confirm this. They were both still wearing at least underwear, but… oh, yes. Dean’s probing thigh brushed against a _very_ impressive morning wood on the other side of the bed.

Well, he owed mystery man a proper thank you for worrying about him and taking care of him, right?

Dean had barely managed to shuffle himself down the bed when he felt mystery man stir, and saw his eyes flicker open. They stared at each other for what may have been seconds, or minutes; Dean wasn’t quite sure, but he was very certain that he could lose himself in that gaze for a long time, given the opportunity.

It looked as though mystery man was opening his mouth to say something, and that simply wouldn’t do. The risk that he would mess everything up was just too high.

Their lips met sloppily, Dean pushing forward with his tongue a little too eagerly, trying to silence whatever words the mystery man was thinking about. He could feel mystery man tense and then relax underneath him, hands running up his back to hold him in a sort of awkward embrace. When he felt quite sure that no more words were forthcoming, he pulled back, raising a hand to brush some of that frankly ridiculous hair out of the mystery man’s face.

“Dean,” he whispered, gesturing to himself with his free hand, slightly breathlessly.

“Roman,” he heard the reply, before he was pulled into another kiss.

This time, he let himself be led by the other man, allowing Roman to set the pace. The soft pressure against his lips was almost maddening with how much it made him just want _more_ , but no sooner had he thought that, he felt Roman suck his lower lip into his mouth, felt the gentle grind of teeth against the sensitive flesh. He felt the firm touch of his large hands slip down his back, ghost over his ass, and land on his thighs, pulling him on top of the large man as Roman rolled onto his back.

Dean didn’t quite know what to do with his own hands in the midst of this, and ended up settling them with fingertips of one hand on Roman’s jaw while the other rested on his chest. He was faintly aware that he needed to cough, to try to shift the unpleasant heavy feeling inside, but also very acutely aware that if he did something so gross as splutter directly on the gorgeous man’s face that he would almost certainly never be invited back into his bed. And right now, that was exactly where he needed to stay.

Roman must have felt the tension in Dean’s body, though, because he slackened his grip on his thighs, tilting his head away from the kiss. “Are you -?”

There seemed to be a lot of unsaid things in that question. It may have ultimately been “are you alright?”, but by way of “please don’t be sick or pass out on me right now”.

“Can I have like five minutes?” Dean murmured, his voice containing a little more gravel than he was used to hearing from himself. It was really the last thing he wanted to do right now, to step away from Roman, to give him time to realize that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to find a random drunk guy in the hallway and take him back to his room for a quick fuck the following morning. Except that it wasn’t, because the last thing he wanted to do was make an embarrassment of himself by letting his hangover affect his performance.

Roman nodded, and Dean stood up. It occurred to him at that moment that he didn’t really know what his game plan was, so he turned to the corner and took a deep breath, coughing hard into his elbow and hoping against hope that Roman wasn’t paying particularly close attention.

Well, that shifted some of the unpleasant heaviness in his chest, but at the expense of triggering that headache that had no doubt been lurking around just waiting to pounce. He raised a hand to his temple and stood, for just a moment, with his eyes closed. He could pull through. No way was some stupid little bout of dehydration going to stand between him and -

He felt the tap on his shoulder, and looked around almost guiltily. Roman was proffering a packet of Tylenol and a half-empty bottle of water.

Shit. Maybe he’d been hit by a car on the drunken trek back to campus and this was what heaven was like.

That seemed unlikely, but hell. So did his whole morning.

He swallowed down a couple of pills gratefully with a swig of water, then stumbled his uncoordinated ass back to the bed, patting the spot next to him lightly. Once Roman had settled in next to him, Dean pressed his forehead to the man’s chest lightly. “Alright, so like five minutes more, maybe.”

Dean felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him, and he tilted his head back against the warmth of the embrace with a faint smile.

\--

It was at least twenty minutes and the rest of the bottle of water before the hazy sensation and throbbing pain in his head had faded enough that he felt confident enough to roll over and claim Roman’s mouth in another searing kiss. From then he wasn’t sure if it was seconds, minutes or hours before he felt his hands slide down the smooth planes of Roman’s chest, down to the waistband of those satin boxers, heard himself whisper a promise of great things that he wasn’t entirely sure if he could fulfill.

The very moment he saw the slight nod, he hooked his fingers through the waistband and slid them down over Roman’s hips, hesitating for only a moment as Roman’s cock came properly into his view for the first time.

Dean wouldn’t exactly have called himself a world champion at giving head, but he’d also never received any actual complaints, so that was probably good enough. He leaned in close and ran his tongue up the full length on one side, before wrapping his lips around just the head and rocking his head back and forth, taking in only a small amount, then a little more, and more, until he felt the pressing sensation of his gag reflex threatening to make everything terrible if he tried to go any deeper.

He could feel the pressure of Roman’s fingers leafing through his hair and, as he lapped at the head with his tongue then sucked hard for just a moment, making a fist and pulling slightly. Dean was fairly sure that if their situations were reversed, he would have been more pushy, gag reflex be damned. Then again, he’d never let a stranger sleep in his bed after finding them drunk in a hallway, or offered to call a taxi for a wrong number, so maybe he just wasn’t particularly polite.

He chanced going a little deeper anyway, breathing deeply through his nose and fingers digging deep into Roman’s thighs to keep himself sturdy. This earned a soft whimper from the larger man and when he flicked his tongue out again, he _felt_ the shudder go through Roman. There may have been words, some whispered encouragement or possibly filth, but all he could discern was the feeling of the cock stretching his mouth, the trembling of Roman’s thighs tracking from his fingertips and up his arms, the sweet sensation of Roman tugging urgently at his hair.

The tap on his jaw brought him back to the moment in time to hear what sounded faintly like, “I’m gonna -”, but the hangover had dulled his reflexes to the point (or possibly, Roman hadn’t given him quite enough warning - but that seemed like an uncharitable thing to think about a man who’d been nothing but splendid so far) that he didn’t really have time to decide whether to let Roman come in his mouth before it was decided for him.

Dean had never been particularly inclined to swallow, so he didn’t. He hoped, vaguely, that Roman hadn’t been planning on reusing the water bottle.

He looked up to meet Roman’s eye, smiling broadly, exactly as poised as could be expected from a man who just spat out a mouthful of semen and still had some dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Roman chuckled, smoothing out Dean’s hair with one hand and wiping the excess from Dean’s chin with his other thumb.

His urgency to make a good impression now sated, Dean became very aware of the other urgency he’d been ignoring. As though reading his mind, Roman seemed to realize at the same moment, pulling Dean close for another kiss. It was soft, sweet, but Dean was beginning to become frankly anxious for more, for some _release_.

He took Roman’s hand in his, guiding it down his body towards his hip, pressing forward to grind against any part of Roman that happened to be available. “Babe,” he murmured in a snatched breath between kisses, “could you -”

Roman didn’t need to be told twice. Before Dean really understood what was happening, he was on his back again, the imposing figure of Roman leaning over him, kissing a line from his earlobe down his jaw, while one hand palmed him through his underwear. Dean pushed his hips up into the touch, which was both glorious and utterly insufficient, and was dimly aware of a chuckle vibrating against his throat.

“I -” Dean wasn’t sure what exactly the planned end of that sentence was going to be, because before he had the chance to mouth more than a syllable, he felt Roman slip his hand under the fabric and wrap strong fingers around his cock.

Roman’s teeth grazed against a sensitive part of Dean’s neck, and Dean tried to tell him to do it more, harder, rougher, but words seemed to be beyond him. The message was received, though, judging from the burst of pain that flared and then faded into a searing jolt of pleasure as he came, without much warning, on Roman’s hand.

He lay there, breathless, not quite capable of managing anything more complicated than wrapping an arm around Roman’s neck and burying his head in his chest. He wasn’t sure if anything more was expected of him, whether the strange man who had taken the time to be concerned about him would want him to stay or leave or what, but certain at least that he was satisfied just lying there, wrapped up in the warmth and comfort and the strange smell of coconuts until someone else took the initiative.

It felt like an age before Roman disturbed the silence between them, planting a soft kiss against his temple and murmuring, “Deano, I think it’s your phone.”

He reached out and fumbled for it, before eventually conceding that he would probably have to sit up and use his eyes because he didn’t have even the faintest idea where it would have ended up.

It was still in his jeans pocket, on the floor. Of course.

Three missed calls from Seth.

Well.

  
“Nothing important,” Dean mumbled, leaning over to brush his lips faintly against Roman’s chest.


End file.
